Kitabı oku: «Nightstorm and the Grand Slam», sayfa 2

Slowly, the broken-spirited mare and the broken-hearted girl began to heal each other and Issie fell in love with Blaze. But she never forgot Mystic. In her heart, she never let him go and the bond between her and the grey pony proved to be more special than Issie had ever imagined.

When Mystic first turned up to help her – alive and real, a flesh-and-blood pony and not some ghostly apparition – Issie should have been astonished, but instead she accepted his presence straight away. She had wished so hard for him to still be there with her, that when he actually came back she never questioned it. They were meant to be together.

In the years that followed, whenever Issie or her horses were in trouble, Mystic would come to her. He was her guardian, her protector and her secret.

While the horses had luxury accommodation at Badminton, Issie and her team weren’t quite so well off. Their horse truck was comfortable enough to live in for a few days, but it was a little cramped with four people in it. Avery and his wife Francoise had the double bed in the cavity above the driver’s cab, Stella had created a makeshift bed on the banquette seat next to the kitchen table, and Issie was out at the back in the part of the horse truck where the horses themselves usually travelled, on a camping cot bed. It wasn’t exactly the Plaza Hotel, but it suited Issie just fine. She loved the sweet smell of horses and the quiet chirp of crickets right outside as she lay there, trying to get to sleep.

With the cross-country starting at seven-thirty in the morning, an early night was crucial. As Issie had two horses to compete, the organisers had split up her two rides at either end of the day. Her early start was on Storm. The big bay was due in the ten-minute box a little before eight a.m. Victory was her second ride, with a late allocated start time of one-thirty p.m.

Although Nightstorm wasn’t due in the box until nearly eight, their day would start much earlier. Stella would be up and grooming him before sunrise and Issie would be down at the stables not long after that. After the exhausting day she’d just had, Issie desperately needed a good night’s sleep. Of course, just when you need it most, that’s when sleep refuses to do the business. For almost an hour she lay in her cot bed, thinking about the day’s events. She was finally beginning to relax, could feel drowsiness overwhelming her, when she heard hoofbeats.

Convinced that the sounds were nothing more than echoes from the stables on the other side of the competitors’ park, she ignored them and tried once more to sleep. But in a moment of clarity she sat up, suddenly wide awake. The hoofbeats were too close. They couldn’t be coming from the stables.

And then she heard another sound, quite distinct. It was the soft nicker of a horse and it was right outside!

Padding over to the back of the truck in pyjamas and bare feet, Issie pushed open the canvas flap at the rear by the ramp and peered out. It was dark, but there were a few lights on in the competitors’ park, providing enough illumination for her to see. There was a horse standing just a few metres away.

Eventing horses tended to be solidly built and at least sixteen hands high. By comparison, the swaybacked grey pony in front of her was tiny, no more than fourteen hands. He stared at her with coal-black eyes, standing so still that he looked like a marble statue. Then he shook his long mane and the statue was suddenly alive and impatient. The gelding gave a snort as if to say, ‘Come on! What’s keeping you? Let’s go already!’ Issie couldn’t believe it.

It was Mystic.

Chapter 3

Mystic stamped a hoof impatiently against the gravel and looked up at Issie, his dark eyes making his intent quite clear. They needed to leave now.

“OK, wait!” Issie ducked back inside the canvas flap and hunted frantically for a pair of boots. Her heart was racing and she couldn’t think straight – the fact that Mystic was here now meant that one or both of her horses must be in real trouble. She began to panic. They needed to go now!

There was a sound of hooves and Issie looked back to see Mystic pushing his muzzle through the canvas flap to look for her. She could see his nostrils flare as he sniffed for her. “I’m coming!” she insisted. She unearthed the boots from beneath a pile of coats and pulled them on and pushed her way back out through the canvas flap. Mystic was standing close to the ramp so that Issie could use it as a mounting block. She vaulted on expertly, not worrying that the pony had no saddle or bridle. She had always ridden Mystic like this. She remembered the very first time when they had taken a midnight ride to the pony club from her house. It had been terrifying at first, trying to bounce along bareback at the trot without anything to cling to. But Issie was a far more accomplished rider now. Her natural balance was so honed she relied on her seat alone. Not that it was far to fall anyway if she had come off. Compared to being on big, sixteen-two hand horses like Nightstorm and Victory, the grey pony felt very low to the ground. It had been a long time since Issie last rode Mystic and she was suddenly aware of how much she had grown. She was far too big for him – but Mystic didn’t seem to mind. As soon as he felt her weight settled on his back he set off at a brisk trot, weaving between the horse trucks. Issie wrapped her hands in the pony’s coarse mane as Mystic trotted his way through the twisting maze of vehicles, heading towards the Badminton House stable block.

It usually took about ten minutes to walk from her truck to the stables, but in a matter of a few minutes the grey pony was pulling up to a halt in the shadows outside the stately stone buildings.

“Good boy!” Issie gave him a slappy pat on the neck and then slid silently to the ground. The grey pony knew he could only take her this far. There was a watchman at night on the gates so she’d need to go alone from this point.

As she ran towards the stable block, Issie cast a glance back over her shoulder at Mystic. She had hoped to catch one last glimpse of his snowy face in the darkness but she should have known better by now. The grey pony was already gone.

As she ran through the entrance gates the security guard dropped the magazine he’d been reading and shone his torch on her.

“Hey, where do you think you’re going?” He put out an arm to stop her as she tried to race past.

“I need to get to my horses,” Issie said. She was trying to stay calm, but it wasn’t easy. Her mind was flashing back to that night in Chevalier Point all those years ago when Storm was stolen. He had been just a colt at the time and the ordeal had been terrifying. Now, Issie was worried that it was happening once more. Had someone come to take her horse? She couldn’t stand to go through it again.

“ID tag?” the guard said.

Issie lost her cool. “I’m wearing pyjamas! Does it look like I have my tags on me?”

The guard looked closely at her. “So what’s the big hurry about?”

“I need to get to my horses.”

The guard looked unimpressed by this vague explanation. “I’m sorry but without tags… hey!”

Before he could say anything more, Issie had ducked under his outstretched arm and was running through the courtyard towards the stable block.

She entered the corridor of the stable block and ran down the row of stalls. Victory was there! She could see him through the bars on the top of the door to his stall. He seemed to be totally fine.

“Hey, you!” Issie could hear the guard running up the corridor behind her but she ignored him and continued on to the next stall.

“Storm?”

Her breath was coming in gasps as her throat constricted with nerves. Her heart was racing. When she reached the door to his loose box she half-expected to find his stall empty, her best horse taken from her once again. But Storm was still there too!

Relieved to see him, Issie collapsed against the loose box door and put her face up to the bars.

“Hey, boy!” Issie smiled at him. “I’m glad you’re OK. I was worried about…”

The smile disappeared from her face. Storm usually came to the door to greet her, but he was acting like he wasn’t even aware that Issie was there. He seemed preoccupied. He kept turning his head around to look at his flank and then lifting his hind leg to kick at his belly.

Issie was confused. She had seen Blaze behave like this once when the mare was about to have a foal. But Storm was a stallion. He wasn’t about to give birth, so why was he behaving like…

Suddenly, the big bay dropped to his knees in the loose box and began to roll. At that moment, Issie knew what was wrong. She was about to slide the bolt to his stall when she felt a hand clasp her roughly on the arm.

“You’re in serious trouble!”

It was the security guard. His face was flushed from sprinting and he was clearly furious.

“No!” Issie turned to him, “You don’t understand. I’ve got to get in there! Look at him!”

Storm was lying down on the straw bedding of his stall, and rolling frantically from side to side, grunting in pain.

“He’s got colic!” Issie said. “If we let him roll he’ll end up killing himself! He’ll twist his bowel and then he’ll die!”

The guard let go of her arm. He was an officious sort, but he had also been hired because he was a skilled horseman and he knew immediately that Issie’s assessment of the bay stallion was probably right. Colic was like a very painful stomach ache – and the horse would keep rolling to try and relieve the pain. But the rolling would actually make matters much worse. The situation could very quickly turn deadly if they didn’t act fast.

“Let’s get him up!” the guard said, reaching out to pull back the sliding doors of the box.

Issie was already way ahead of him. She reached for the halter and lead rope that were hanging by the stall door and slipped the halter over Storm’s head. The stallion was still lying down and even as Issie tried to buckle the halter up, he was attempting to roll again.

“Hey, no, Storm,” Issie said, trying her best to subdue her own panic and speak gently to the horse. “Easy, boy, don’t roll. I’m here now. We’re going to get you up on your feet…”

But Storm wasn’t listening. As Issie tried to secure the buckle on the halter he flung his head up, narrowly missing her face. She reeled backwards and before she could grasp the halter again Storm had flung himself to the ground, legs flailing over his head. Issie was forced to flatten herself against the stable wall to avoid the flying hooves.

“Storm! Stop it!” There was a wild look in the stallion’s eyes. He was in so much pain that he wasn’t listening at all. A wall had gone up between them and she couldn’t get through.

Issie looked at her beautiful horse, writhing in agony. She had to pull herself together and act now if she wanted to save him.

Avoiding the thrashing hooves, Issie stepped closer to Storm’s head and shouted out to the security guard. “I’m going to need your help! Can you get to the side of him and prepare to push?”

The guard immediately grasped her plan and backed his way around the loose box, avoiding Storm’s legs which were still waving violently in the air, until he’d managed to get himself into position near the stallion’s flank.

“Stay back from him until I tell you to move!” Issie told him.

The guard nodded. He wasn’t arguing. Those hooves were deadly weapons.

Storm stopped thrashing for a moment, and Issie immediately seized the chance and lunged forward to grab the lead rope. “Do it now!” she yelled at the guard. With an almighty heave, she gave a yank on the rope while the guard put his shoulder to the stallion’s side and shoved against the horse as hard as he could.

With a grunt of effort, the stallion heaved himself up to his feet, and immediately repaid the guard’s efforts by lashing out at him with a hind leg.

“Are you OK?” Issie asked.

The guard nodded. “He missed me.”

“I’m so sorry,” Issie said. “He’s just in so much pain…”

The guard looked pale with shock. “Well, let’s get him outside into the courtyard. You need to keep him moving.”

Issie had never looked after a horse with colic before, but like most riders she knew the drill. Keep them walking, keep them calm and, no matter what, don’t let them roll.

But keeping Storm moving wasn’t an easy matter. The stallion was in terrible pain and all he wanted to do was lie down again. He tried once more to drop to his knees and Issie had to bellow at him and yank sharply on the lead rope to make him step forward and leave the stall.

Even when they were out in the stony courtyard, Storm was still reluctant to walk. It was taking all of Issie’s strength and patience just to keep him moving.

“Will you be OK while I go and call the vet?” the guard asked her, looking worried.

Issie nodded. “It’s OK, I can handle him. Go make the call.”

The guard must have only been gone for ten minutes but it felt like a lifetime as Issie walked Storm around the yard alone. She could feel her own stomach tying in knots. Her horse had colic, but everything depended on what happened next. If she could stop Storm from injuring himself further, and if the vet arrived in time, then the stallion still had a chance of survival.

She thought back to Stella’s comment that the stallion had been off his feed. Why hadn’t she followed through and come down to the stables to check on him? Had Storm been in this state for long or had the colic set in quickly? Issie put out a hand to reassure the horse and realised that his whole body was drenched with sweat.

“It’s going to be OK, boy, they’ll be back soon…” she reassured the stallion. But inside she was panicking. Where was the guard? He’d been gone for far too long!

Suddenly there were voices in the darkness. The guard was back – and he had the vet with him.

“I’m Maurice Cross,” the vet introduced himself with a brisk handshake. He dropped his medical case to the ground, dug out a stethoscope and began to examine Storm straight away.

“So he’s showing signs of colic?”

“He’s been getting to the ground and trying to roll,” Issie confirmed. She ran through the rest of Storm’s symptoms while the vet examined his heart rate and breathing.

“His pulse is very high,” the vet looked concerned. “He’s at over 100 beats per minute at the moment.”

“Is that bad?” Issie asked. “Is he going to be OK?”

The vet shook his head. “I can’t tell you that yet. There are different types of colic. If it’s just a nervous muscle spasm then he’ll recover overnight. But if it’s something more serious, like a twist in his bowel or an impaction, then he’ll deteriorate in the next few hours…”

The vet stopped talking and began to hunt about in his bag. He pulled out a hypodermic needle and loaded the syringe with clear fluid.

“We’ll give him a muscle relaxant and see what happens,” the vet said. “With any luck, he’s having spasmodic contractions and the relaxant will help to ease them.”

The vet took the hypodermic needle and thrust it firmly into the muscle of Storm’s neck. The stallion didn’t flinch as the needle went in all the way to the hilt.

“It should take effect in a few minutes,” the vet said. “The main thing now is to keep walking him. It’s vital that you don’t let him roll.”

The vet gestured towards the security gates at the front of the yard. “They have my number on speed dial,” he told her. “I’ll come back and check on you in the morning. But don’t be afraid to call me before then if there’s any change.”

Issie watched the vet leave and hoped that a phone call wouldn’t be necessary.

“Is there anything I can do?” The night guard was clearly feeling awful that he had tried to turf her out earlier. “Do you want me to lead him for you for a while?”

Issie shook her head. She couldn’t bring herself to leave Storm’s side, not even for a moment.

“Can you do me a favour?” she asked. “I need you to make a phone call for me.”

By the time Avery, Francoise and Stella arrived at the yard the vet’s injection had begun to work and Storm’s pains seemed to be easing, but the stallion was still distressed and Issie still needed to keep him moving.

“It looks like we might be lucky,” Francoise said gently to Issie. “If the pains are lessening then the chances are that he has spasmodic colic. It is painful – but it is the best kind of colic to get – he’ll get better again quite quickly.”

“It’s not because I overfed him, is it?” Stella looked distraught. “I gave him a regular feed…”

Francoise shook her head. “No – this kind of colic attack is usually brought on by nerves and stress, not food. He needs to be walked for the rest of the night, but the chances are good that he will recover.”

Avery agreed. “It looks like the muscle relaxant is working.”

“Will I be able to ride him tomorrow?” Issie asked. “It’s only a few hours until the cross-country.”

Avery shook his head. “It’s too soon. Even if all of his symptoms were gone by then, riding him would be a huge risk. He could develop a second bout and it would kill him.”

Issie’s heart plummeted. If you had asked her an hour ago she would have wept with gratitude just knowing that her horse was going to live – but to have her dreams yanked away like this… ohmygod, they were in the top three after the dressage! It was too cruel. But she knew what she had to do.

She couldn’t ride – she had to retire. She was pulling Storm out of Badminton.

Chapter 4

Issie felt like she had only just fallen asleep when she was being woken up by the glare of bright sunlight on her face. The canvas flap of the truck had been opened up and it was daylight outside.

“Oops!” Stella quickly shut the canvas behind her again. “Sorry! Didn’t mean to wake you!” She reached across Issie and began rummaging around in a gear bag until she found a roll of gamgee bandage.

Issie sat up, still feeling groggy. “What time is it?”

“It’s nearly ten,” Stella said.

Ten! No wonder the sky had looked so blue. She should have been awake hours ago. The cross-country would be underway already!

“It’s OK. Everything is under control,” Stella said. “Tom told me to leave you to sleep in.”

Nightstorm’s bout of colic had kept Issie up until the early hours of the morning. She hadn’t wanted to leave her horse’s side but at five a.m. Avery finally insisted that she go back and get some sleep.

“Stella will stay with him,” Avery told her. “You need to rest. You’ve still got Victory to ride tomorrow.”

Stella finished packing the gamgee bandages in the kit bag and slung it over her shoulder.

“Storm’s doing much better,” she said, anticipating Issie’s question. “Maurice came to check on him again at around eight this morning and he’s pretty sure that he’s over the worst of it. He might have a few more stomach pains over the next twenty-four hours but he’s going to make a complete recovery.”

“Thanks, Stella,” Issie said gratefully.

Stella looked like she was going to burst into tears. “I’m so sorry, Issie. I should have realised when he wasn’t eating that something was wrong…”

“There was no way you could have known he was going to get colic,” Issie told her.

Stella looked miserable. “You should be riding him today. He would have gone clear around that cross-country course. I know it.”

Issie swallowed down hard on her disappointment. She didn’t want to make Stella feel any worse, but deep down she was devastated. Yesterday she had been in third place after the dressage. Now, her hopes of taking the trophy on the big bay stallion were destroyed. But her chances weren’t completely lost. She still had her second mount to ride. She had to pull herself together, get out of bed and get ready for battle. Victory was due to tackle the four-star course that afternoon.

The green fields of Badminton Estate, usually populated by sheep, were home to over a hundred and fifty thousand spectators on cross-country day. Everywhere that Issie looked there were people crammed up against the rope barriers, all trying to get into the best possible position to see the action.

The Tannoy crackled, then Mike Partridge resumed his commentary. “What a morning it has been! The course here at Badminton has proved to be one of the most challenging in the history of the event and has upset many a combination of horse and rider. Only five clear rounds have been completed so far. Gerhardt Muller on Velluto Rosso is hoping to add to that tally and make it six. He’s clear so far as they head towards the water complex…”

As Issie rode Victory into the warm-up arena, she caught sight of William Fox-Pitt and Piggy French, both mounted up and ready to ride and her heart skipped a beat. The most famous faces in the sport of eventing were here today and the atmosphere in the stadium was electric.

Issie still couldn’t quite believe that she was about to ride one of the most famous cross-country courses in the world!

Don’t think about the pressure, she told herself firmly, focus on the task ahead. She looked across the main arena and concentrated her eye on the first fence, the flowerbed. From there, she let her mind ride the course, mentally cantering and galloping through it, committing to memory the turns and checks that she would make before each obstacle. As she did this, she was only slightly aware that Victory too was beginning to grow tense. The brown gelding was swishing his tail in consternation. Tacked up in his cross-country kit, his front and hind legs smothered with white grease to help him to slide more easily over the solid jumps, he knew that their time had almost come. He was keyed up and anxious to get out on the course and there was already a lather of white sweat on his neck from anticipation as Avery took hold of his reins and led him towards the start box.

“There have been quite a few run-outs at that brush element in Huntsman’s Close,” Avery told Issie as he walked her forward. “Make sure you keep your line to that corner and don’t rush it.”

“OK,” Issie nodded.

“And kick on as you come into the water. You need to get three big strides in before you strike that middle element. A lot of riders have tried to put in a fourth stride and come to grief.”

Even though he had already checked her girth at least five times, Avery now gave it one more final check. Issie noticed that he was trembling a little as he took the girth straps in his hands. Her trainer looked up at her and that was when she saw the concern in his eyes.

Issie knew exactly what he was thinking. The Badminton cross-country course was six and a half kilometres of hard galloping and enormous fences. Considered to be the ultimate test of fitness in a horse, it was also a test of rider stamina – and after last night’s drama in the stables Issie was sleep-deprived and running on empty. Tackling a course like this in her condition was dangerous. All it would take was a moment’s inattention, a fleeting loss of focus, and she would be in big trouble. This fear was etched over Avery’s face. He knew just how challenging this course was and he was desperately worried about her.

“Issie…” Avery began.

She cut him off before he could say anything more.

“Tom, please, don’t. I’ll be fine.”

Issie wasn’t giving up – not now! Victory was still in with a real chance. They had been in eighth place after the dressage but already over the past few hours the cross-country course had taken its toll on the leaderboard. Eliminations and refusals in the top ranks meant that a clear round on the cross-country would elevate Issie up to fifth place at the very least.

Avery saw the look of grim determination on her face and he knew he would never be able to change her mind. “Good luck,” he said. “Remember, if in doubt…”

“I know,” Issie grinned at him, “kick on!”

Avery let go of the reins and Issie had a few final seconds to make her last adjustments, checking her compulsory airtech inflatable vest and setting the stopwatch on her wrist. She had the timer set so that she knew exactly where she needed to be on the clock at the minute markers around the course. It wasn’t good enough to go clear – she would have to avoid time penalties too.

Issie tightened her grip on the reins and urged Victory into the box. The gelding tried to leap forward and Issie had to pull hard on the reins, turning a circle in the box behind the start line.

“Easy, boy,” Issie said to him in a soft voice, “Any minute now…”

She clasped the reins in one hand and placed the other hand on the stopwatch button as the starting steward spoke into his walkie-talkie to confirm that the other competitors out on the course were far enough ahead.

“We’re all clear to jump 12,” the voice at the other end of the walkie-talkie crackled. “You can let the next rider go.”

Issie felt a tight knot of nerves strangling her stomach. This was it.

“OK, line him up.” The steward waited for her to edge Victory forward in the box. “And ready, get set… and go!”

As Victory surged forward across the start line the electronic timer let out a peep. They were off! The crowds in the stands cheered as they came in to take the first fence.

Victory leapt the flowerbed like a seasoned professional, taking the jump with a perfect forward stride. Issie suddenly exhaled and realised that she had been holding her breath until that point. It was always good to get the first jump out of the way. Now she was really doing this. Her nerves were gone and she was totally focused on the ride ahead as they came along the rolling green turf, past the cheering crowd at the grandstand exit, veering to the left to approach jump number two, the massive Higham’s Brush. Victory took this fence precisely, and Issie felt her confidence levels surging. She was so elated that she briefly lost focus and they were only a few strides out from the quarry when she realised they were at full gallop and needed to slow down. There was a massive drop on the far side of this fence and they were taking it too fast!

There was no time to pull up. Issie and Victory flew the fence, jumping far too big and landing halfway down the bank on the other side. Issie quickly recovered and shortened the horse up in time for the next fence, a big log positioned at the top of a bank. They took the log by the skin of their teeth.

Wake up! she told herself angrily. She had to prepare for the fences ahead and be ready each time if she wanted to get around this course in one piece.

At the infamous Huntsman’s Close, she found herself fretting about the big corner hedge. It was set in the shade of some spreading elm trees and it was easy for horses to be bewildered by the tree shadows and unable to see the hedge until the moment it confronted them.

Preparing Victory for the corner, Issie set him back on his hocks after the first element and collected him up so that he had plenty of time to eye up the hedge and take it very neatly on a lovely forward stride.

“Magnificent! Just look at this horse!” Mike Partridge was enthusing to the crowd. “He is absolutely eating this course up. But how will he handle the lake complex? Remember, Isadora only got given the ride on this wonderful eventer when he deposited his rider, Warren Woodfield, in the drink with a spectacular fall into the water at the Adelaide Three-Day event. Warren ended up with a broken back for his troubles and has been out of competition ever since. So, has this horse lost his nerve when it comes to water?”

Coming into the lake complex, Issie already knew the answer to this question. Since then Issie had jumped several three-star water complexes on the horse. She knew that he’d lost none of his nerve.

At the front of the water jump Issie could see two Mitsubishi flatbed pick-up trucks. They were parked tail-to-tail with their flatbeds touching and there were pretty flower planters sitting on their open platforms. However the flowers didn’t in any way camouflage the fact that these were trucks – and they were intended to be jumped!

Squaring up to the massive spread of the pick-up trucks, Issie put her legs on firmly and kicked on to the jump to make sure that there was no doubt in Victory’s mind that they were going over this obstacle. She needn’t have worried. Victory knew exactly what to do and he flew the flatbeds and cantered onwards into the water, taking one-two-three canter strides before leaping the narrow element in the middle of the pond. Then he cantered on and over the last jump and out the other side.

“Beautifully handled!” Mike Partridge was impressed. “A lovely round so far for this young rider!”

Through the water and over the broad barn table and then coming down into the country complex, Issie was really hitting her stride. She had checked her watch at the minute marker as she whizzed by at a gallop and was absolutely smack on time.

They were coming down the long, sweeping run of green lawn to the Farmyard, the last jump before the Vicarage Ditch, when suddenly a whistle blew and a steward in a high-vis jacket stepped out onto the course and waved his hands to tell her to stop.

Issie ignored him at first, thinking that there must be some mistake. Why would a steward be stopping her? She’d done nothing wrong. She had walked this course so many times she knew it like the back of her hand and she was certain that she hadn’t taken a wrong turn.